Why do I do it?
by Earth Requiem
Summary: Why do I do it? It might seem like a lie but...there's this boy. You many not believe me but...there's this girl.


This was a prototype for a short story I had to do for English last year. It is obviously based on Ruby and Sapphire's relationship. We had to write a story either all in thought, all in dialog, or about someone in our school. In the end I chose the latter, because the most popular guy in our grade had a world domination complex and my all dialog story was way to embarrassing to hand in (we had to read our work aloud before handing it in). Even though I didn't use this one, someone else in the class wrote about a general Pokemon trainer, the teacher didn't get it but we were all dieing of laughter by the end.

This is AU, I tried to make it as 'real world' as possible. I think it's pretty easy to tell whose thinking, Sapphire is the girl with more simple sentences; Ruby is the guy with the vocabulary.

Disclaimer: By no means do I own Pokemon or Pokemon Special

**Why do I do it?**

Why do I do it? Most people think it's because of my dad that I act this way. Believe it or not, back when I was little I loved all things girly and cute. My world was rarely anything more than the block my house was on.

Though he tried not to let his research affect raising me, my dad took me on one of his business trips when I was still young. His close friend was also going to be at the convention he was lecturing at. I didn't mind going. I got to meet his son.

I don't remember his face or name any more, but I remember the feeling. He was adventurous and charismatic. I found myself dawn in by his every word, blindly following him on adventures I would usually brush off as being gross. I looked up to him and adored him. The look he got in his eyes when he was engrossed in his own world gave me butterflies in my stomach. It was the time of my life. We would play for hours as our fathers worked and caught up with each other.

But those days came to an end so quickly I didn't really understand what happened at the time. We were playing at a playground with his dog when a man came up to us. After saying a few words I don't remember the man grabbed me by the arm. The boy lost it.

The playful look of adventure was changed into a glare of pure hatred. He called his dog and they fought the man. When I was freed from the man's grasp I collapsed trying to block everything out with my hands over my ears and eyes shut tight. But I'll always remember the yelp of the boy's dog after the thump of it getting hit and the grunt of the boy after he hit his head.

When there was nothing but silence left I finally got the courage to look around. My friend stood in front of me holding out a hand and all I noticed was the blood dripping down the side of his face. I was so scared I didn't know what to do but curl up into a ball and cry.

Our dads found us not too long after it was over. We left for home the day after. I still don't know what happened only that the man who grabbed me was a wanted criminal that went after children.

Faraway from the scene, I started to forget the whole thing.

It wasn't till several years after that I actually thought about what happened. I was older then and knew that my actions had more than just physical consequences. By then I had already forgotten his face. But I couldn't help but think back to that time when I cowered in fear from the person who saved me and that I let the person I cared so much about to get hurt.

I was disgusted with myself. I knew I needed to change. I discussed it with my dad and he took me out of school. Those "special" classes the government put me into did more harm than good anyway, my father was more that happy to personally teach me the researchers trade.

We sold the house and lived a life on the field. I gave up my girly ways and grew up as a shadow of my dad. I learned how to work in the field and how to survive in the harsh world.

But in every single thing I did, he never once left my mind. I tried to mould myself to the image I had left of him. I tried to become stronger so the next time my dad meets up with his old friend and introduces me to his son I can proudly show him what I have become.

Why do I do it? Contrary to what most people believe, it was not because of my father. Believe it or not, there was a girl.

I met her during one the business trip my father took my mother and me on. She was the cutest most fragile creature I had ever seen. I still remember the feeling of being with her even if I can no longer remember her name or face. I remember the feeling I got in my chest every time see looked up at me in admiration, or how addicted I was to her smile. We spent as much time as we could together, as if we had known each other since birth. But it all ended when the attack happened.

We were out playing near a playground with Nana when I noticed a familiar man approach us. Maybe this all would have been different if I had recognized the look in the man's eyes. He was already upon us when I realized that I identified his face from one of my father files for work. I started to panic- no one from those folders was a good person. But when he grabbed her arm, it became clear what I had to do.

I knew she was scared and confused when I called Nana to my side. We tackled the man together. The only thought in my head was that I had to protect her, protect that smile, that innocence.

There was little harm that a young boy could do against a grown man. But a dog with an iron-like jaw was another story, as Nana clung to the man's forearm refusing to let go. Though we had accomplished little damage, my yells and Nana's barks were loud enough to attract attention. I felt the man began to panic. He managed to kick Nana in the ribs causing her to yelp and release her hold on the man before collapsing into a panting heap on the ground. Concerned for my dog I never saw the hit coming as my head collided with retaining wall that held the gravel in the playground.

When I regained my senses I ran to her frantically asking if she was okay. She was curled up into a ball, her hands trying to wipe the tears that spilled over her cheeks. It hurt to see her in such a way. I offered her my hand wanting nothing more than to envelop her in a hug. She looked at my hand, then my face and recoiled in fear. She hugged her legs, burying her face into her knees, whimpering about being scared.

I stood there broken, my hand still held out for her to take. My chest heaved up and down, I felt blood dribble slowly down my face, and sweat start to sting the deep gash. Broken hearted, I knew then that I was a monster.

Our parents soon came and Nana and I were taken away to respective hospitals. I found out that my father's friend took her home as quickly as possible, we never got a chance to speak again.

It turned out that the man who attacked us was a dangerous pedophile that my father was investigating as a detective. After the attack, my father became so driven for revenge he left home work full time on the case. Even now he doesn't look at me the same way.

With father not at home, it was only my mother and I. I no longer wanted to follow my father's footsteps and become a revenge driven madman. To spite him for leaving, I took up the arts. I donned a hat to hide my scare, the proof that I am nothing but a monster, and crafted myself into what I thought she would admire most.

Slowly I pushed her memory to the back of my mind, only to dig it up when I feel the need for violence or conflict. I want to be able to see her again and show her what I have become.

So why is it? Why is it that this boy -because I will not call him a man- is always on my mind? He is vain, self-centred, obsessed with outer-beauty, weak, a self-proclaimed pacifist, and I can't help but constantly worry about him.

Meeting after just staring my own adventure, he always manages to surprise me with new ways of driving me crazy. His taste for clothes and his God damn hat –that I sure is hiding something- is disgusting. The only reason I took his stupid outfits was because it was the first time anyone said I looked good in something.

And yet I fear seeing blood on his face as much as on the one I can no longer remember.

Maybe it's because the adventurous look he gets in his eyes when he's excited reminds me of that young boy. Or maybe it's the feeling I get when his pacifism shatters and he gets angry that brings me back to that incident that still haunts me.

How can it be that this snob of a person can create feelings in me that match the ones for the boy who saved me so long ago? How can I like him as much, or maybe more, than the boy I never stop thinking about?

So why is it? Why is it that this barbarian encased in a female body is able to accomplish something that no one else has? With every girl I have tried to be with there was always a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I was being unfaithful, that there was someone else. But with her it feels so natural, normal.

I don't even know why. This person -wearing close I bought her because I can't imagine her going out into society in her father's hand-me-downs- is full of flaws. She is severely dyslexic but a complete genius when she doesn't have to read or write. She has little manners to speak of, yet has the charisma to win the heart of even the coldest of people. I've seen her destroy a man who tried to mug her, yet she completely innocent when it comes to the rest of the dangers in the world.

Maybe it's that innocence. That innocence and smile that remind me of the feelings I had so long ago. That makes me want to give up everything I have worked for in order to protect them. Because I fear seeing tears in her eyes more than the eyes I no longer remember yet still haunt my dreams.

How can it be that I'm more addicted to this girl's smile? Have a greater need to see a look of admiration from her than the one from so many years ago? How can I ever say that I like this girl?

He stared at her in the after shock of the collision. Her hair was a mess and her close were wrinkly –he was sure the odor he smelt was coming from her. The purple bruises under her eyes weren't needed to tell him that she had worked the entire night.

She was tired. She really didn't need to crash into him turning into their apartment complex. His cologne was already giving her a head ache and she just made him drop his morning coffee so a lecture he was about to give was just going to add to it.

"Come on, I'll escort you home."

Her brows creased together as she stared at him questioningly. He ignored it as he turned to enter the building again. She looked like she was having trouble standing, how was she expecting to make it up all those flights of stares? Or make her way past the questionable people already loitering about the street?

"Oh, what, like you really protect me from the dangers of the world?" She refused to move. She didn't want to deal with him right now. He would have something rude to say. He always had something rude to say. Like comment on her dad's sweater she was wearing to keep warm and stay comfortable at the lab.

"Are we going or not, you freak of nature?"And there was that look. Behind those expensive clothes found in magazines she would never look at was that look that did weird things to her stomach.

"Fine." He really hoped she didn't hear his sigh of relief when she agreed –her hearing was amazing.

The stairs had never looked so big before. She hadn't realized she grabbed onto his hand for support until she saw his shocked expression. "I'm only holding your hand to force you to stay on task and not bail on me when you get the chance," she huffed

The words hurt more that they should have. Leaving her in this state seemed so deplorable. He squeezed her hand when she tried to let go.

She made a questioning noise in the back of her throat. "Just making sure you won't bite of anyone's head, you're really grumpy when you're tired," he covered quickly.

"You're a complete douche bag you know that?" It was more of a tired sigh than a bighting comeback.

"And you're an ungrateful social retard. Come on, I have to go to work still." He dragged her up the rest of the stairs. Not even noticing when their finger laced together.

"Thanks"

"What?"

"Nothing! God you're annoying."


End file.
